Catch Me
by Sayura-san
Summary: John Watson is in love with Sherlock Holmes. When another date breaks up with him, he decides to do something about it. But then a new case comes up ... Rated M for later chapters!
1. A horrible date

**This is my first try to write a fanfiction.**  
**I hope you enjoy it!  
(Don't be too hard with me, please ;A;)  
**

**If you leave a comment, I would be very grateful.  
Also, if you find any mistakes, please tell me about them, so I can correct them (I'm not a native speaker).  
**

**Not beta-ed or brit-picked.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock and none of the characters.**

* * *

John Watson was bored.  
It was a beautiful day, he was sitting in a nice café with his pretty date and he was bored.

The problem was that Maria was exactly his type: Pretty, smart and down-to-earth.  
He had met her at Sarah's birthday-party and today was their second date.

Everything should be perfect, but all John could think about was how NOT Sherlock she was.  
Maria was small and really feminine. She had hazel-brown eyes and straight, long, blond hair. Her skin had a rosy colour.

Sherlock was the exact opposite. Tall and almost skinny. His eyes had a colour which John could not identify (Was it grey? Green? Or even blue?) but he could stare into them for hours. Sherlock's dark curls looked so soft that John wanted to touch them, wanted to know how they would feel between his fingers. And those cheekbones. John had never seen such cheekbones before. Sherlock had a face and a body any model would kill for – and he knew it, because he used it to get what he wanted – but he would never allow anybody to touch them.

John sighed. These thoughts were going round and round in his head and as much as wanted to think about somebody else, fall in love with somebody else except his crazy flatmate, he knew it was impossible.  
If you fell for Sherlock Holmes, there was no turning back.  
Because there was nobody as clever and beautiful as Sherlock Holmes.  
Nobody as dangerous, as mysterious, as strong - but also as vulnerable, as caring.

The sudden silence got his attention back on his date.  
She was looking expectantly at him and John didn't know a thing she'd been talking about. He had completely zoomed out while thinking about his flatmate.  
Maria must have known that he didn't listen because her smile turned into a sad expression.  
Before she could say something, John quickly took her hand on the table and said "I'm sorry, Maria. It's just ... I had a difficult day at the surgery and I'm very tired. It's really not your fault."  
He knew it was wrong to tell her lies, but would it be better if she knew the truth? That she just couldn't fascinate him like his (male) flatmate did?  
No, John decided. Nobody knew about his secret crush on Sherlock and that's how it should be. Bad enough that he fell in love with the self-claimed sociopath, the world didn't need to know about it.

"You're working too much, John. Every time I see you, you have bags under your eyes and you look like you haven't slept for days. Do you have any problems?"

If she knew, John thought. It was true that John hadn't slept much before their two dates, but that wasn't because of his job – it was of the cases with Sherlock. In the last weeks there had been a few cases which Sherlock had quite liked (which means they had been very difficult and extremely dangerous – for both of them) and John and Sherlock hadn't even had time to take a breath between them. At least Sherlock hadn't been bored – and John had felt his stomach fluttering every time he had seen the excitement in Sherlock's eyes. Sometimes John couldn't believe that Sherlock still hadn't seen what was going on inside John when he saw everything else. Maybe because he hated sentiment he ignored it?

John faked a smile. "No, I don't."

Maria smiled back. "If you ever need anybody to talk, just call me, okay?"

She was so nice. Why couldn't he just fall in love with her?

At that moment John's cell phone chimed.

And there was the reason why John just couldn't have a normal relationship.

He knew that the text was from Sherlock (nobody else texted him except Lestrade and sometimes Mycroft, but both rather rarely and never during a date). It was always like that.

Sooner or later John's girlfriend would drop him because of Sherlock, claiming John was in love with Sherlock (which he was, but always denied) or that he had a relationship with his flatmate (because John always ran from dates to help him) or because Sherlock had deduced them. However the cause of the break-up was always Sherlock. And John knew it would end that way before he had even started dating. Sometimes he asked himself why he even bothered when he knew it couldn't work out because he was in love with his unreachable flatmate.

Maybe it was the fear that more people would believe that Sherlock and John were in a relationship.  
Or maybe he feared that Sherlock might start to suspect?

Anyway, John kept dating and failing.

He opened the message.

_Emergency. Come at once. 221B Baker Street. – SH_

"Is it from your flatmate?" Maria asked.

Surprised, he looked at her. John hadn't told her much about Sherlock (yet), except that they were sharing a flat and that Sherlock was his best friend.

His confusion must have been written all over his face, because she went on: "Sarah told me about him."

Oh. He should have guessed that. After all he had met her at Sarah's birthday-party.

"Well ... what exactly did she tell you?"

"Oh, you know, that you solve crimes together –"

John got his hope back. Maybe Sarah hadn't said anything about ... _that._

"- and that he texts you like all the time and people think you're a couple and all that. And that he doesn't like having people around him except you and that he drives all your dates mad until they break up with you."

John felt himself flushing, but still tried to appear calm.

"And ... what do you think about that?"

"Well ... I don't have any reason not to believe her, but there's also no reason why I shouldn't give you a chance. Maybe your flatmate – Sherlock, wasn't it? – isn't as bad as she said."

No. This couldn't be happening.

Please, please, dear God, please make that she doesn't want to meet Sherlock!

"How about I go with you and meet your flatmate now?"

Again John's cell phone chimed.

_Hurry up. It's important. – SH_

John still didn't know what to say.  
He just couldn't take Maria to meet Sherlock on their second date.  
It was just too early.  
She wasn't prepared for that.  
They didn't know each other well enough.  
Sherlock would deduce her and she would be gone.  
Then he could start his search for a suitable date all over.

Also ... he kind of didn't want her to meet him. But ... why? He hadn't cared about that before.

_John, stop fussing about your date. I'm bored! – SH_

Something in his head clicked.

He didn't want her to meet him, because he wanted Sherlock for himself. That was their domestic life and he didn't want anybody except them there.  
Here, outside, John had no problem playing the straight bachelor, but inside 221B ... that was their little safe world and he didn't want anybody to interrupt there anymore.

And just _maybe _he didn't want her to meet him, because she might recognize Sherlock for what he was: The most beautiful and genius human being in the whole world.  
A person who could have anybody if he had wanted to.  
Woman or man, poor or rich, average or famous, single or taken.  
Literally anybody.

"No." John said with steady voice.

"What?"

"No, I won't take you to meet him."

"What? Why?" she asked, suddenly annoyed.

"Because ... Because I don't want you to."

"You – You don't want me to meet your flatmate? What's wrong with you?! What could possibly happen?"

John took a calming breath before he said something he would regret later and touched Maria's hand on the table again, hoping to calm her down a bit, too.

"Listen Maria, it's just too early for you to meet Sherlock. Sherlock is ... a very eccentric person and most people can't cope with him. Yes, he is my best friend and at the most important person in my life, but that doesn't mean you have to know him so soon. Just ... give us some more time to get to know each other before I introduce you to him, okay?"

"... He is your best friend?"

"Yes."

"And he is eccentric."

"Yes. He claims to be a sociopath."

"But he is the most important person in your life?"

John felt the blush return. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. People could misunderstand.

"Yes, he is. Since I met him."

"I see ... Well then the case is clear for me." She stood up and looked with a sad glimmer in her eyes down to him, still sitting on the table. "Goodbye John."

"W-What? Maria?" She turned away.

"I know when I'm wasting my time. You're in love with this Sherlock Holmes. I can see it in your eyes. I hope you'll be happy with him."  
And with that she walked to the door and left.

John sat there for some minutes and stared at the door. Had that really just happened?

Another chime broke his trance.

_Joooooooohn, I'm bored. How long can it take to get from your stupid date to Baker Street?_

With a slight smile John read the text and made a decision.

He put some money on the table and left the café. He needed to get home.


	2. Falling

**Thank you guys so much for your nice reviews, the favs and the follows!**  
**I'd never thought people would actually like my story.**

**So, a little sooner than planned (I just couldn't wait any longer), here's chapter 2.  
**

**I don't know if I can live up to your expectations, but I hope you'll enjoy it :)  
Comments & criticism are always welcome.  
**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was sulking on the couch in 221B and waiting for John to return.  
What could take him so long?  
Normally he should already be back home.

Sherlock didn't like it when John went on dates.  
Why would he want to do that?  
Meet uninteresting women who couldn't meet his expectations anyway.

Hadn't John everything he wanted here? With him in Baker Street?

Sherlock just couldn't understand John's need for those stupid dates.  
What could he possibly get out of them?

Sherlock already gave John what he wanted:

Comradeship.  
Sherlock had never had a friend before and now John was his best friend, the most important person in his life (except from himself) – what could John expect more?

Happiness.  
John was happy. Everybody could see that.  
Since John moved into Baker Street he was laughing more and he liked the way he lived.  
Sherlock could read it in the way he behaved, how he coped with everything Sherlock threw at him, in his eyes.  
John's eyes...

Sherlock shook his head to get the thought out of his head.  
Useless sentiment.

What was there more that John could want?

Ah. _Danger_.  
Well that was certainly something that John got in their ... 'relationship'.  
And it was something that only Sherlock could provide.

So why would John still want to date? He got everything he needed from Sherlock.  
Those women could never give John what he needed.

And still John went on his stupid dates with the uninteresting women and was therefore not available to Sherlock. (At least not immediately – John still came running home when Sherlock texted him, Sherlock thought with a slight smile.)

But somehow ... the thought of John wasting his time dating instead of spending his time _here_ with Sherlock ... bothered him.  
... WHY?

Sherlock didn't understand that.  
What was wrong with him?  
He had never cared if John was dating or not.

He had even _met_ some of John's dates - but they had all broken up with John sooner or later.  
And Sherlock knew that at least one of the reasons they broke up with John was Sherlock himself and John's relationship to him.

Sherlock smiled softly.  
He _had_ a lot of influence on John's life – if John was dating or not and if John wanted or not.

Sherlock was aware that many people thought he was in a romantic relationship with John.

He even knew about the betting pool at the Yard.  
Betting if he and John were shagging and just denying it or, if they didn't, when they would start.

Sherlock dismissed the thought. Childish behaviour.  
It didn't matter what they thought about him and John.  
Nobody knew John better than him and if these imbeciles thought they could see something Sherlock couldn't, they were simply wrong.  
No point in discussing that.

At that moment he heard the front door open, then close and steps on the staircase.

Sherlock knew that these were John's steps.  
He had a certain way of taking the steps that Sherlock could recognize under thousands.

Quietly Sherlock turned his back to the room in order to look more pouting (and to make John feel guilty, because it took him so long to get back), when John entered the room.

He heard John stopping in the doorway.  
He could imagine him taking a look around the room until his gaze fell on Sherlock on the sofa.  
Then he heard him coming nearer.

"Sherlock. - Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't answer nor move and he felt John sitting down beside him.

"Sherlock, I'm back. What did you want?"

He could feel John's gaze on him, but Sherlock still didn't answer. He wanted John to know he was moping.  
John sighed and stood up.

... What?

Sherlock was surprised.  
No 'Sherlock, I was on a date. You know you shouldn't text me unless it's really important'-speech?

Sherlock quickly turned around to see where John went. He wouldn't just leave again, would he?

Ah. John was going into the kitchen to make tea.  
Sherlock felt something heavy lifting from his heart.

Right. John would never just leave Sherlock, would he?

He took a second to think and then got up from the sofa to follow John into the kitchen.

He leaned against the desk on which he had worked on some really interesting experiments about livers this morning (but which he had finished soon after John had went on his date and it hadn't taken long for him then to be cross with John for leaving him to go to his unnecessary date).

Silently, Sherlock watched John making tea.

He didn't know why, but somehow he enjoyed the way John was doing the housework.  
Every move was sure, no second thought about what he had to do; effective, no useless embellishments; just the plain work.

He was that absorbed in observing John working that Sherlock completely forgot to make some noises – so that John would know Sherlock was behind him.  
John never heard Sherlock moving around the flat (except when Sherlock wanted him to).

Hence when John finally turned around with two cups of hot tea in his hands, he jerked, half of the tea splashed onto the floor and John slipped.

Sherlock reacted instinctively. His arm shot forward quickly, he took hold of John's wrist and pulled John close to his body. Then he put his arm around John in order to hold him stable.

For a moment, they just stayed in that position, their chests lifting and falling quickly, their hearts beating fast from the adrenaline.  
And ... it felt ... good. Sherlock quite liked the warm feeling of John's body pressed so close to his.  
It made his stomach tingle, his heart beating even faster, he felt a little bit dizzy, he -

But before Sherlock could analyze the feeling any more, John pulled away slightly and looked up to Sherlock.

"Ehm ... thanks for ..." He cleared his throat. "For catching me."

"No problem." Sherlock's voice sounded strange to him, like it was somebody else's voice in his body.

He looked down in John's eyes and felt that funny tingle in his stomach again.  
Somehow John seemed different, too.  
And ... Was is the light or was John blushing?

No.

Why should John be blushing?  
There was no reason.

Then John completely pulled away and Sherlock felt a strange wave of disappointment rushing over him.

What was wrong with him today?

John put the mugs down on the counter and took a towel to clean up the mess on the floor.  
Sherlock didn't pay attention anymore. He had already gone to his mind palace.

Automatically, he turned around and went back to the sofa, he lay down, put his hands together under his chin and tried to classify the curious feelings and thoughts he was having today.

A few minutes later, he was that deep in his mind palace again that everything around him was just a blur. He didn't even notice when John came back into the sitting room and went straight to his room upstairs.


	3. One way or another

**And here's finally chapter 3!  
****I'm really nervous, I hope you'll like it D:**

**Please let me know what you think about it :3**

* * *

John ran upstairs into his room, locked the door behind him and leaned against it.  
He took a deep breath.  
Then his knees gave away and he slid to the floor.  
His head dropped to his knees.  
He could still feel the blush burning on his cheeks.

_What the fuck had just happened?!_

~  
When John had left the café, he had made the decision that he had to do something about his feelings for Sherlock.  
He had accepted that he just couldn't ignore them anymore.  
But _what_ he would do now was still written in the stars.

The problem was Sherlock's attitude to feelings in general - and love especially.  
To Sherlock, love was a useless sentiment.  
Useful as a motive, to solve a case or to manipulate people, but never as a real emotion.  
Sherlock didn't let his heart rule and though John knew that Sherlock did care about other people (at least certain ones), it was obvious that he would never openly show this side of him or talk about it.

John had thought about just talking to Sherlock, but chances were too high that his feelings would ruin their friendship – and there was no way John would risk that.

Then he had had the idea that he would just stop dating.  
He would deal with his feelings alone and never talk to Sherlock about it.  
But that was also nonsense.  
Sherlock was the most observant man he knew and therefore it was obvious that Sherlock would notice.  
Then he would certainly ask John for the reason and John would have to tell Sherlock after all (because Sherlock would know when he was lying).  
If John was lucky, they would go on as usual after that.  
If he wasn't, Sherlock would tell him to move out because he wouldn't want to deal with the emotional mess between them.

The next thought was trying to seduce Sherlock, but John dismissed that thought within seconds.  
He would just ridicule himself.  
Sherlock would simply ignore his behaviour or (if he recognized it for what it was) he would laugh at John.  
In the worst case scenario John would be so embarrassed by the memories of this event that it would cause him to move out.

So which possibilities were left? What could he possibly do that wouldn't risk their friendship?

John still hadn't decided what he wanted to do when he had arrived at Baker Street.  
He had stopped for a short moment on the threshold to pull himself together.

He mustn't show Sherlock what was going on inside him.  
He knew that this would be difficult, but maybe he was lucky and Sherlock was distracted by his work or an experiment or something like that (he didn't really care – in that moment he would gladly have accepted an explosion in the kitchen, just so Sherlock wouldn't notice the argument between head and heart raging inside of John).

John decided it would be best to act as if his date had broken up with him because of Sherlock's texts (it wouldn't be the first time) and he wanted to take a break from dating now because of the many failures lately.  
At least that would get him some time to think of a real plan.

With that plan in mind, John had entered 221B.

He wasn't surprised to find Sherlock sulking on the couch, but decided to save the no-texts-on-dates-speech for later when Sherlock was actually listening.  
Then John would also mention his date-break. Hopefully Sherlock would believe it without too many questions.

Therefore John had left Sherlock to his moping on the couch to make some tea. He had really needed a cuppa and somehow even the preparing always helped him to calm down.  
Out of habit he had made one for Sherlock, too and then turned around to bring the hot tea into the living room.  
He just hadn't expected to find Sherlock standing behind him.

He had jerked out of his trance, spilled the tea and slipped.

Sherlock had caught him and prevented him from falling onto the hard kitchen floor.  
He had pulled John into a kind of hug and for a moment John was completely shocked (and he still was kind of shocked now).  
To be pressed so close to Sherlock ... he had felt a blush creep onto his cheeks and his heart had started pounding faster.  
He hoped Sherlock hadn't realized or at least thought it was just from adrenaline.

With a lot of effort John had pulled away from Sherlock (who knew what he would have done otherwise) and looked up into his face.  
_Why did he have to be that handsome?_  
"Ehm ... thanks for ..." John's voice was harsh and he had had to clear his throat before he could go on. "For catching me." He could feel the blush burning on his cheeks.  
"No problem."

Their eyes had met and John had felt a shiver running down his spine.  
_Oh, how he wanted to just grab Sherlock by his soft looking curls, pull him down and just kiss him until they forgot everything around them –  
_Before John could do something stupid, he had quickly pulled out of the hug and turned away to clean up the mess on the floor, hoping Sherlock hadn't seen his red face and his – inevitable – dilated pupils.

When John had looked up again, Sherlock was laying on the sofa again, obviously deep in his mind palace.  
John hadn't minded and retreated to his bedroom as fast as he could.  
~

And now?  
Now he was sitting here, on the floor, leaning against the door and willing his blush and the memory to go away.

That had been so close.  
Just a little more and he had snapped and kissed Sherlock – _fuck the consequences_.

He couldn't possibly let that happen again.  
He couldn't risk their friendship.

But what if ... Just what if that situation just now hadn't only been him?

John couldn't remember a moment when Sherlock had reacted like he had just now and never had they stopped dead in their tracks and simply looked into each other's eyes.

_No, John, stop it._  
You're imagining things, because that's how you want it to be.  
Sherlock just wanted you not to hurt yourself. _Nothing more_.

John sighed deeply and his head fell back against the door behind him.  
He really did need a plan or he would go insane.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.  
It was just so like him to fall for the most difficult person he knew. To fall for the self-claimed sociopath.

But he would handle it.  
And he would solve it so that it wouldn't ruin their friendship.  
That much John promised himself.  
He would rather be celibate than give up his best friend.

At that moment he heard a call from downstairs.  
"John? JOHN! We have a _case_!"  
He could hear Sherlock running around and getting dressed.

Heavily, John got up from the floor and rearranged his clothes, getting his mind together.  
Then he slowly went downstairs to get his jacket.

In the hall he met Sherlock.  
It was really unbelievable how fast that man could be when he was into it.

When Sherlock noticed John, he turned around without a word and left the house to hail a cab.  
John followed, smiling softly.

_This was their life._  
Sherlock rushed ahead and John followed.  
Sherlock was brilliant and all-brain, never caring about other people, and John was there to be his moral compass.

This was how their life was and John loved every second of it.  
The Danger. The Comradeship. The Domesticity.  
He would never risk that because of his feelings.

Outside Sherlock was already climbing into the taxi and John hurried to follow.

"So, what's the case about?"  
"A woman, dead. Cut open very nicely. Police couldn't find any hints. Imbeciles. I hope they haven't destroyed _all_ the evidence."

John smiled.  
This was the Sherlock he knew.  
The complete opposite of the one from the kitchen...  
_Oh stop thinking about it, John._ Not now, anyway.

The cab moved quickly through the heavy traffic and John busied himself looking out of the window.  
It was getting dark already and soon the street lighting would be turned on.

It only took a few minutes to get to the crime-scene.

John could already see Lestrade behind the yellow tape, talking with Anderson and Donovan.  
He sighed internally. He could feel the chemistry already.

Next to him, Sherlock had already opened the door and left the taxi, leaving John to pay.

When John finally got out of the vehicle, he was surprised to find Sherlock still standing in front of it, seemingly waiting.  
He glanced at Sherlock who, without any indication he noticed John, started moving in his usual elegant-arrogant stride towards the detective inspector.

Lestrade looked up when he heard them approaching.  
"Ah, Sherlock. You're here. Anderson already searched the body for evidence, but we couldn't find anything, except the fact that she's cut open in a very strange way.  
Come, have a look."

John could practically feel Sherlock rolling his eyes about to say something impolite and gave him a light bump into the arm.

Sherlock looked down to him and they had a quick silent conversation.  
'Sherlock, don't. You don't want them to be upset before you even saw the victim.'  
Rolling eyes. 'Alright. But I'm sure this idiot did not see the wood for the trees.'

The victim was a small woman, about thirty, with long brown hair.  
She was nude and her whole body was littered with cuts which seemed rather random to John.  
There were even whole _pieces_ of skin missing.  
John had to hide his disgust at the sight. _Who would do something like that?_

He watched Sherlock moving around the corpse, taking closer looks at this and that detail that would have escaped John completely.  
He couldn't help the warm feeling in his belly.  
This was his Sherlock. The man he loved.

John knew that it really wasn't the right place to be pondering about one's feelings, but he couldn't help it.  
Every time he saw Sherlock working it was like falling for him all over again.  
You could see his brilliance in his every move.

Sherlock got up, looked at the corpse and hunched over it again.  
"John, please have a closer look at these cuts."

John had to violently cut off his chain of thoughts.  
Bad enough he was thinking about this at a crime-scene, he needn't be caught doing it.

John crouched down beside Sherlock, careful not to touch him in any way.  
He really didn't know what Sherlock wanted to hear.  
But he looked at the cuts and the missing skin anyway.  
If Sherlock wanted to know his opinion, he would at least try to help him.

"Well ... the cuts seem rather random at first ... but ..." He had a closer look. "But when you look at the way the skin was cut, it is rather neatly done, maybe by someone used to cutting flesh."  
John felt Sherlock's gleaming eyes on him and a sudden rush of pride flowed over him. He wanted more of that.  
"And ... when you look from a bit farther away ..." He stood up.  
"And add the missing pieces of skin ... The cuts add up to a pattern."  
John grinned and a rosy touch appeared on his cheeks. He knew he was right.

Then, at once, his smile faded and the entire colour left his face.  
The cuts didn't just add up to a pattern.  
Those were letters.  
Real letters, cut into the woman's skin.

**S H**


	4. Strange letters

**This chapter was somehow really hard to write.**  
**It just didn't flow D:**

**Don't be too hard on me, please ;_;**

* * *

Suddenly Lestrade's team were all over them, trying to get a closer look at what had John Watson going pale so quickly.

They were staring at the body for minutes – and saw nothing.  
Just like Sherlock had expected. They weren't John after all.

John seemed to recover from the shock quickly and started showing them what he saw.  
In the meanwhile, Sherlock decided to search the ground around the body some more, but the policemen were always in his way.

Then Anderson spoke up: "Well, that's as obvious as it can get, isn't it? Our favourite psychopath has struck again."

"Why would he kill a woman and then leave such clear evidence, Anderson?" Lestrade asked.

"Apparently he didn't think anybody would notice. It's his kind of game. He thinks we're too stupid and he gets off on getting away with it right under our noses. His bad luck he didn't count on his favourite _pet_ to help us."

As if Sherlock could _ever_ miscalculate something like that.  
He knew John well enough to know what the man was capable of.  
John was a brave man, a loyal man and smarter than all of the police force together.  
And John certainly wasn't his _pet_.

"Sherlock would never kill an innocent human being." That was John.  
Sherlock felt a slight flutter in his stomach.  
John believed in him. John trusted him.

"You're too naive, John." When had Sally Donovan started to call John by his first name?  
"I told you he gets off on this and someday he would murder someone out of boredom. As you can see, the time has come." Her voice was so ... soft. Was she trying to be nice? That was odd. Normally she didn't care about anyone. He would have to keep a closer eye on her.

"You're completely wrong. Just because the cuts read 'S H' that doesn't have to mean anything."  
"But it could mean everything." Lestrade answered calmly. He turned towards Sherlock. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave the crime scene for now."

But before Sherlock could say something, John exploded: "Because of this?! Because Anderson told his unnecessary opinion?! Come on, Greg, you've known Sherlock for years! You should be able to tell he wouldn't do something like that!"  
Surprised, Sherlock turned his head to look at John. He sounded very angry and his whole body was stiff as if he was holding himself back from punching somebody.  
It wasn't like John to go up the wall that quickly.

"Calm down, John. You two would have to leave now anyway. I just got a text that there'll be another inspector coming shortly and it wouldn't do us any good if he found some strangers on a crime scene – especially if the initials of one of them are cut into the corpse."

Sherlock got up gracefully from the ground and went to the little group.  
He had a short look on John who talk calming breaths and flexed his hands and then looked directly in Lestrade's face.  
"I'll need some time to have another look at the body."  
"Alright. I'll text you when it's at the morgue."

Sherlock turned around and started walking towards the street.  
"Come on, John. We're leaving."  
He could hear John following him without as much as a short goodbye.

A few minutes later, they were sitting in a cab on their way back to Baker Street.  
It was quiet between the two of them, but Sherlock's mind was racing.

Not with thoughts about the case, no, it was entirely too soon to do that, first he would need to examine the woman completely.  
No, Sherlock was trying to figure out why John had been so angry earlier.  
It wasn't the first time that Anderson and Donovan had implied Sherlock was the murder, but never before had John been that irritated about it.

John was usually the kindness in person and would rather blame himself than anybody else.  
What was it that had John snapping?

Sherlock couldn't seem to reach a solution.  
At that moment, John decided to speak up.

"Why do they always have to bring that up? It's not like it's something new."  
"Maybe they just can't give up the hope to see me in prison?"  
"Sherlock." John said with a small smile. "I know you're not a saint, but you know as well as I do, you would never be sent to prison, even if you had murdered someone. You're far too clever to get caught. And your brother is the bloody British government. That must be useful for something."  
Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John's words. It was one of his rare, genuine smiles that were mostly reserved for John.  
John, who believed in him against all the odds.  
John, who trusted him with his life.  
John, who was always there.  
Always.

A giggle broke through his chain of thoughts.  
He looked at John questioningly. In precisely 7 minutes and 34 seconds John had gone from angry over amused to girlish giggling. It was like he was pregnant and was having mood swings.  
That thought had Sherlock grinning and biting his lower lip in order not to laugh out loud.

His eyes met John's and he instantly knew that John had had that exact same thought a few seconds before.  
And suddenly they were both laughing.  
The whole taxi was filled with their laughter and the cabbie gave them an irritated look, probably thinking they were both high (And maybe they were? High on the case? High on each other?), but he found he couldn't care less.

When they both were finally coming down, still giggling from time to time, they were leaning against each other, trying to catch their breath.  
It felt comfortable and Sherlock found he wouldn't want to be any other place than right here with John.  
John fitted so perfectly against his side as if they were made for it and Sherlock felt the strange urge to put his arm around him.

Thankfully, they arrived at Baker Street at this moment and Sherlock didn't have time to ponder about this strange impulse.

John, who was finally breathing normally again, left the car and this time it was Sherlock's turn to pay.  
He still had a small smile on his lips when they entered 221B.

They had just made themselves comfortable with a nice cup of tea when Mrs. Hudson came into their flat.

"Sherlock, dear, I've got a letter for you. It was delivered this morning, but I've forgotten to give it to you. I hope it's nothing important?"  
In her hands she had a small, pink letter.  
_Who would use such an ugly envelope?_

Curiously Sherlock took the letter from Mrs. Hudson and examined it carefully.  
It seemed to be a perfectly normal letter except for the colour.  
The address was written in a very feminine way and Sherlock could see from the way she wrote his name that she put very much care into writing it.

Carefully he started to open the letter.  
The letter paper was also pink and Sherlock really hoped the content wouldn't be as bad as it seemed.

_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,  
I'm a big fan of yours. I'm always reading your website (and Doctor Watson's blog), collect all the newspaper articles I can find and have just recently joined your fan club.  
I'm amazed about what you're able to do.  
To me, you're the most genius and most handsome man that exists.  
Therefore I've been wishing to meet you for quite some time now and with this letter, I wanted to ask you out.  
Enclosed is a picture of me and my contact details.  
Hoping to hear from you soon,  
Ivy McDougal_

For a minute, Sherlock just stared at the letter.  
This had to be some kind of joke.  
Maybe John had sent the letter thinking it would be funny to see his reaction?

But one look at John showed that he had no idea what the letter was about and seemed rather curious about the content.

Sherlock did not know what to think and decided to have a look at the mentioned photo. Perhaps he could deduce something.  
It showed a young lady, about 25 years old, with short blonde hair.  
Other men would find her attractive, but Sherlock didn't care about women in that way. To him she seemed rather boring.  
From her clothing and the way she stood, he could deduce that she was from a wealthy family and therefore never had to work. Also she had had a string of lovers, but nothing long-term.  
What could such a girl want with him?  
The problem with the picture was that he could not see how old it was.  
There was no date on the back and the photo was taken in a studio.  
It could be only some days old or already some years.

"So what's the letter about?"

Sherlock looked up from the picture.  
He was surprised to find that Mrs. Hudson had left the flat and only John was still standing across from him.

Without a word, Sherlock passed him the letter.  
While reading John's eyes got bigger and bigger and a light blush crept onto his face.

"This is ... a fan letter? And ... she wants to go out with you? Obviously she doesn't really know you. Nobody who really knows you would want to go on a date with you." He sounded somewhat displeased.

Sherlock felt a light pang in his chest. What was wrong with him lately?  
John had just stated the obvious so why did he feel this way?

At that moment, John took the photo from Sherlock and their hands brushed.  
Immediately, Sherlock's chest wasn't as tight anymore and his fingers felt warm where they had met John's.

"She's really good-looking. She could have anyone."

Sherlock turned his head as fast as lightening. His eyes had narrowed to slits.  
_John._  
John who _liked_ women. Who was _attracted_ to them.  
If this woman and John would meet, she might realize that John was much better dating-material than him and then she would try to get John all for herself and John would think she was a good catch and then this endless dating would start all over again and maybe then John would have found what he wanted and would _leave Sherlock_.

No.  
He couldn't possibly let that happen.

At once, Sherlock took letter and picture from John, ripped them together with the contact details and burnt the pieces with his Bunsen burner.  
There, problem solved.

Grinning he turned around to John who stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Why did you do that?"  
"Well, I'm not interested in that woman and as it's an invitation to _me_, I decided to destroy it and never be bothered about it again. This just never happened."

Pleased with himself, he went to the couch and lay down.

"We have some time to spare until Lestrade texts, so please, John, eat something. We might not have time later on."  
With that he went to his mind palace, trying to order the data about the case and delete everything about the annoying letter.


	5. Pushing ahead

**Sorry for the belated update guys, my internet wasn't working properly.**

**But here is the new chapter, I hope you enjoy it! :3 **

* * *

John's thoughts had been going around in circles for hours now – and with them his feelings.  
He was nervous and even afraid of what he should do and just couldn't find rest.

He had tried napping, but he had only turned and turned and never really found sleep.  
The one time he had dozed off, his mind had continued planning and trying options and in the end, John had woken up even more agitated than before.

The problem was that damn letter.  
Yes, Sherlock hadn't really been interested in that woman and had burned it, but it had shown John that there were people out there who would want to go out with Sherlock if he were interested.  
So why should Sherlock choose John?

And what if John was just wasting precious time by thinking all this and Sherlock would meet someone tomorrow who he would want to date?  
The only thing that kept Sherlock from dating was Sherlock himself.

It was noon already when Lestrade finally texted and John was happy about finally having something to distract him.

It took them only 5 minutes to get out of their flat and into a cab.  
Sherlock was obviously deep in thought and John felt uncomfortable.

He was lucky that Sherlock was obsessed with the case, otherwise he would have noticed in a second that there was something wrong with John and – in another second – known what it exactly was.

John had to do something – and quickly.  
Before Sherlock found the murderer – which could be any minute after he had had another look on the corpse.

But John just couldn't bring the topic up when Sherlock was working, that would be the worst possible choice of time.

There were only two possibilities left:  
1. Wait until they had another 'break' (Unlikely, and Sherlock would be thinking about the case even then)  
2. Do something _now_, before Sherlock got into the case again.  
And sometimes it was best to just push straight ahead and look where it left you.

Well, there was his answer.

One look out of the window: their ride would still take about 10 minutes, possibly longer with the usual traffic at this hour.  
One glance at the cabbie: paying attention only to the street, seemingly ignoring his passengers.  
One glance at Sherlock: he was looking out of the window, waiting for them to arrive – so not thinking about the case at the moment.

John's heart rate sped up.  
It was now or never.  
He knew that when the car stopped, Sherlock would be dashing away without as much as a glance back and the chance would be gone.

John closed his eyes for a moment, taking some calming breaths (no use) and willing his stomach and heart to stop acting like crazy (also no use).

When he opened his eyes again, his heart skipped a beat.  
He was looking directly into Sherlock's eyes – only a few inches away.  
John felt himself blushing.

"Sh-Sherlock!" he stuttered.  
"Shhhhhh! You don't want to get the cabbie's attention."

John's mind was razing.  
What was happening? Was this real? What the fuck was Sherlock thinking he's doing and – wait _what _did he just say about the cabbie's attention?!

"You've been behaving strangely since you came back from your date, John, and it had me wondering what was going on in that stupid little brain of yours."  
Only Sherlock could make an insult sound so ... _endearing _and ...fucking_ sexy_.

The blush deepened.  
"I – I –"  
"Tell me, John."  
His voice sounded like velvet and John had to bite his lower lip to hold back a breathy moan.

"John." He found he couldn't answer Sherlock's question. His mind was blank. His heart hammering.  
All he could concentrate on was the man towering above him, so fucking _close_, his smell, so clear and just so _Sherlock_, and that voice saying _John_'s name and making it sound like the most perverted sound ever known to human kind.  
_He mustn't kiss Sherlock_. Not now. They needed to talk first.

"John, I need to know. I'll need to focus completely on the case later and I can't when I can practically hear you thinking all the time. So tell me what's wrong."  
John's mind didn't register what Sherlock was saying. All he could hear was his own heartbeat ringing in his ears and all he could see were Sherlock's beautiful lips moving – so _close_...  
How he would love to just pull Sherlock down and kiss him...

"John? John! What's wrong with you? Why are you so flushed? Are you not feeling well?" Sherlock sounded confused and slightly anxious.  
And suddenly there was a gentle hand on John's cheek. The touch was nice and felt good on John's overheated skin. He leaned into the touch unconsciously and looked up, directly into Sherlock's worried eyes.  
A small smile appeared on his lips and at once he sat up, took Sherlock's face into his hands and kissed him sweetly on the lips.  
It was a passionate, but chaste kiss and if John had been in his right mind, he would have felt Sherlock freezing in shock for a second, but then slowly relaxing into the kiss.  
They didn't move much and it was over before it had really started, but John enjoyed being so close to Sherlock, feeling his warmth and his gentle lips against his.

When he pulled away John took a moment to just stare deeply into Sherlock's eyes, his smile and his eyes telling everything he couldn't say out loud.

Then his brain started to kick in and he saw the astonished and confused expression on Sherlock's face. His face fell and he pulled his hands away as fast as he could.

"Oh my god." He swallowed. "Sherlock, I'm – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

The taxi stopped. "St. Bartholomew's Hospital."  
Sherlock got out of the cab and into St. Bart's before John could say another word.

John quickly passed the money to the driver and climbed out of the vehicle.  
He felt sick.  
This was not the way this had been supposed to happen.

John took a moment just standing there on the pavement. He had to calm down and gather his thoughts.  
It would be no use to run after Sherlock, try to explain what happened and along the way let the whole hospital know what had happened.  
Also, he would have to explain to Sherlock what he himself didn't fully understand – and in such a way, that it wouldn't ruin their friendship.  
But he really couldn't do that now. Sherlock was most likely working on the case already and it would be no use to disturb him. That would only make things worse.

Best to act as normal as possible.  
John began walking and soon found himself outside the door of the morgue.  
He took a deep breath and entered.

Sherlock was bent over the corpse of the woman from the crime scene, obviously observing and deducing, not even looking up when John came into the room.  
To his right, there was Molly Hooper (as always watching Sherlock with lightly tainted cheeks). John decided it would be best to talk to her and not go near Sherlock and the body.

"Hello Molly."  
"Oh John, it's nice to see you – You do not look well, is everything alright? Should I get you a glass of water?"  
"No, I'm fine. It's nothing." _Except that I'm in love with my mental flatmate who you have a crush on and – oh wait, I kissed that certain flatmate in a cab a few minutes ago and I don't know if our friendship will survive that_.  
"Are you sure? You're really pale. Sherlock certainly could work without you for a couple of hours."  
"No. The case will be finished soon and then I can go and tuck myself in bed."

They started chattering about Molly's new boyfriend (She seemed to try to get over her crush – but not very successful. And who could understand that better than John?) when something seemed to have caught Molly's eye.

"Oh Sherlock, have you found something?"

John turned around and saw Sherlock standing near the head of the victim, in his gloved fingers a small black object.  
He took some steps closer to Sherlock to have a better look.  
It was a black origami lotus.

Sherlock's and John's eyes met and he knew they both had the same thought: _The Black Lotus_.

It was an exact, although smaller, copy of the ones they had found during their investigations from "The Blind Banker".

"Where did you find it?" John asked breathless.  
"It was in her mouth." Sherlock sounded neutral, but John could see the excitement in his eyes.  
"Why didn't forensics find it? I mean, they searched to body, didn't they?"  
"Because they are stupid amateurs, you should know that by now, John."

A short silence. Sherlock examined the lotus closer.  
"What are we going to do now?" John asked cautiously.  
"We go home. I have to examine the samples I took." Sherlock bagged the origami and turned around to the door.  
John gave Molly a short nod, she gave him a small smile, and Sherlock and John left the morgue together.


	6. The Black Lotus

**Thank you for your kind reviews on the last chapter!**  
**I'm so happy you liked it ;A;**

**And a new chapter ... Here we go :)**

* * *

As they entered 221B, Sherlock's phone chimed.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock answered.  
"We found out the victim's identity, a tourist found her purse. Her name is Aileen Jones. She's married, no children, and currently living alone in a flat here in London, because her husband is abroad for work. We're still trying to contact him.  
We know now for sure the murder weapon was arsenic, the cuts were made after her death –"

Sherlock didn't even bother to tell off Lestrade and hung up. He had more important things to do now.  
He put his coat away and started examining the samples. Quickly, but thoroughly.  
He blanked out everything around him.

It was exasperating. After two hours of intensive work, he still hadn't found anything new, only proving things he had already known before.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope to find that John had left the flat - probably shopping.  
He stood up from his chair, took the little black lotus he hadn't examined yet with him and lay down on the couch.

While his fingers played with the lotus and his eyes searched it, Sherlock's mind went elsewhere.  
He was thinking about John's odd behaviour lately.  
What was wrong with him?  
Since that last date John was always nervous and deep in thought and Sherlock couldn't find the reason why.  
And all that _blushing_.

And then the thing earlier in the cab. _The kiss_.

Sherlock had been really surprised when John had suddenly kissed him (in a taxi of all places!) and still didn't get why he did it.  
But even more confusing to Sherlock was his own reaction.

He had _liked_ it.  
He had liked being kissed by John, he had liked the feeling of John's lips against his.  
He had relaxed into the kiss and Sherlock was sure if John hadn't pulled away, he would have reciprocated it.

Sherlock had never understood what people liked about kissing.  
It were just lips pressing and moving against each other in an useless show of feelings, sometimes even involving tongues and exchange of saliva.  
He had tried kissing a few times, but never understood the appeal – until now.

With John, kissing had been different.  
Kissing had been nice.  
It had made him feel warm inside, happy and at home.  
John's lips had felt like John himself was; a little rough, but so very soft and careful.  
Their lips had fit together perfectly and it had felt natural to Sherlock.

It had felt good. But ... _why_?

Why had it felt good now, when it hadn't before?  
Why was kissing John different from kissing other people?

Or maybe it hadn't been John and it had been the circumstances? Or something entirely different?

This needed extensive research.  
He needed more data. And soon.  
Because Sherlock knew that John would never kiss anyone without reason.

His gaze fell onto the lotus. His fingers had worked without his consent and pulled the petals apart.  
Now he could see a little silver line on the black paper that shouldn't be there.  
He sat up and started to unfold the lotus.  
On the square paper were written two words in silver tint:  
FIND ME

This didn't fit. Why would the murderer write him a message?

At that moment, John entered the flat.  
"Sherlock, I have a letter for you."

Sherlock looked up. A letter? Why would John give him a letter?

"I ..." John sighed. He seemed uneasy, Sherlock noted.  
"In front of Baker Street, there was this woman standing. I thought she was a client, because she was looking up to our windows the whole time, but I approached and when she turned around to me, I recognized her. It was ... your fan. That woman who wrote you that letter telling you she wants to go out with you. "

Sherlock was alarmed. Not her again.  
He had thought by getting rid of that letter he would never hear from her again, she would know he rejected her.  
And now she had been here. Right in front of his door. _Their_ door.  
She had _met_ _John_.

"She told me she didn't want to go in and gave me this letter for you." John held up another pink letter.

... So she wasn't interested in John?  
She wouldn't have given him the letter for Sherlock if she had found John was better dating-material, would she?

Sherlock took the letter from John, opened it carefully and took one sheet of pink paper out.  
It was blank.  
He turned it around, but there was nothing written on both sides.

He looked up and met John's eyes.  
For a moment, they just looked in each other eyes, then John turned away.  
Sherlock didn't like that. He wanted to continue looking into John's eyes, they were such a beautiful colour...

"So she wanted to give you an empty letter? She may after all be your type, Sherlock. Giving you puzzles."  
Sherlock didn't like the emotion in John's voice. Or better the lack of them.  
John sounded like he tried to hide all his feelings, but Sherlock could still hear the bitterness.  
He wanted to say something, but couldn't find words to describe what he wanted to convey.

Instead he gave John the black paper with the words. _Distraction. _  
"That is the lotus we found in the victim's mouth."  
John looked at the paper. His eyes widened.  
"A message?" John sounded more like himself again and Sherlock couldn't stop a smile from creeping on his face.  
"Yes."  
"Any ideas?"  
"None at all."  
"Really?" John smiled slightly and looked sceptically at Sherlock.  
"Until now, yes. There was nothing to be found through the samples or on the crime scene, but if the murderer wants me to find him, he'll have left something for me to find. I must have missed something."  
"Maybe some kind of code? Like the last time?"  
"No, there weren't any cyphers around and if there were we couldn't decode them."  
"So we would have to go through all kinds of books again? Searching for some hidden small hint? Oh no, Sherlock! Not that again."

Sherlock's eyes widened in realization.  
"John, you're brilliant!"  
"What? Sherlock what are you –"

But Sherlock was already texting wildly on his phone.  
"Sherlock? Hello? Will you please tell me what we're going to do?"

Sherlock didn't answer until he had finished his text and put his phone into his pocket.  
"We're going to look at the victim's flat. Where else would they have left a cypher? And the book to decipher it would be there, too. That's brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!"

And with that Sherlock took his coat and stormed out the door.  
"Come on, John, no time to waste!"


	7. A message in a bottle

**This chapter ...  
I had the scene perfectly played out in my head, but I just couldn't properly write it down.  
I must have rewritten it like a hundred times D:**

**With this chapter we have gathered the most important evidence concerning the murder.  
Any ideas? ;D  
**

******Anyway I wanted to thank you again for you nice reviews, they make me really happy :D  
I hope you enjoy the new chapter!  
**

* * *

"Come on, John, we need to get there before the police messes up the whole evidence."  
They were in front of the building where the victim had lived.  
It was in a nice neighbourhood and everything around looked well-kept and peaceful.

Sherlock stormed into the building and hurried up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and John had trouble to keep up with him.  
Abruptly, they stopped in front of a door on the third floor.

"This is the one. Try to be as silent as possible, we don't know what we'll find in there and we don't want the neighbours to disturb us."  
John had no idea how Sherlock knew that, to him the door looked exactly the same as the others had, but the detective seemed sure of his observations and was already picking the lock.  
Within seconds, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

Carefully, they entered the flat.  
John looked around, searching for evidence of a break-in or a struggle, but couldn't find anything out of order. It looked like a perfectly normal apartment, though expensive and neat and not very homey.  
The only thing that showed that somebody lived here were a few photos on the wall.

Slowly they started their way through the flat, listening for the lightest noise, searching for the tiniest hint.  
The silence made John's nerves flutter and he was anxious about what he would find when they went further.

They tiptoed from room to room, always prepared for any eventuality, but everything seemed in place. Tidy and untouched.  
With every new room John felt his pulse quicken, expecting something to happen as soon as they opened the door.

Finally they stood in front of the last room on the floor.  
They exchanged a quick glance and Sherlock opened the door.  
This room was a mess.  
The furniture had been thrown over and the closet's contents were scattered all over the floor.  
Ripped clothes were strewn all over the huge bed in the middle of the room and the pillows were slit open.  
It looked like somebody had been frantically searching for something and had, under pressure of time and likely anger, destroyed the whole room.

John's gaze fell on the wall directly over the bed.  
There was a word written on the wall in a strange kind of red colour and John realized after a second, that it must be written in blood.  
RACHE

John stared at the word.  
_Rache_ ... This was like the 'Study in Pink', but ... that didn't fit.  
They were dealing with the Black Lotus, weren't they?

He looked at Sherlock who was now examining the writing.  
If Sherlock knew what had happened here? What was going on?  
John really hoped he did, because he didn't have any kind of idea anymore.

He turned around to examine the rest of the room.  
There wasn't much to see (except from the obvious disorder) and John was sure that Sherlock had already seen everything he needed, but it couldn't hurt to look around a bit.  
After all, it was better than just standing in the doorway and watch Sherlock.  
That would just lead his mind to thinking about the kiss and – damn, he was already thinking about it again.

This was definitely not the right place and time.  
He slightly shook his head to clear it and tried to focus on something else.

His gaze fell on a bottle, standing in the corner of the room, seemingly untouched.  
It looked like it didn't belong here.

John drew nearer and took the bottle into his hand.  
It was a rather small one and there was a piece of paper inside.

"Have you found something, John?"

John jerked and almost dropped the bottle. He hadn't realized Sherlock approaching and now the detective stood right behind him.  
He could feel Sherlock's breath on his neck and felt goose bumps appearing on his skin.  
_Stop it, John._

"Maybe. This bottle stood right there in the corner and it looked out of place. There's something inside, could be a message."  
He passed Sherlock the bottle, who held it close to his eyes, examined and then at once opened it.

He pulled the paper out, unfolded and read it.  
His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. His eyes were unfocussed.

John, now nervous and curious, took the paper out of Sherlock's fingers. He didn't even seem to notice.

_Dear Mr. Holmes,  
Have you solved my puzzle already?  
I really hope you like it.  
By now you should have everything you need. You won't take long now, will you?  
I'm so looking forward to see you!  
PS: I would be very disappointed if I had to give you another hint._

John had finished reading, but continued staring at the message.  
This had to be the craziest murderer ever, wanting to be found that much.  
_Wanting to be found ..._  
What had Sherlock said that first day? That the brilliant ones wanted to be found? That they wanted the applause?  
Well, this had to be one hell of a genius.

A genius ...  
He looked up at Sherlock.  
This man was the cleverest man he knew and there were only two persons he knew that could match him.  
First, Sherlock's own brother and second, the consulting criminal: Moriarty.

John felt a shiver running down his spine.

This case ... It couldn't be Moriarty again, could it?

At this moment they heard steps coming up to them.  
Sherlock had obviously also heard them, because he turned around to John and laid his finger against his lips.  
John nodded and Sherlock quickly pocketed the bottle and the message.  
Then he left the room.

John wasn't sure if he should follow or not and decided to just peek around the corner.

At first the only thing he could see was Sherlock walking along the floor in his usual arrogant stride, then suddenly stopping.  
John was alarmed to see men entering the flat and ran towards Sherlock.

When he reached him, he was ready to violently make their way through the men in order to escape – only to realize it was Greg and his team.  
John had already forgotten that Sherlock had texted the DI earlier.

Greg wasn't in his best mood to find Sherlock and John _inside_ the flat.  
"Sherlock, I told you to wait! You cannot just break into a flat, it's illegal!"  
"You would have destroyed all the evidence!" Sherlock retorted.  
"That's still no reason to break the law, Sherlock!"  
"... The door was open." Sherlock looked away.  
"Really?"  
"Yes."  
"Alright then." Lestrade still seemed unconvinced, but left it at that and started to give instructions to his team.

John met Sherlock's gaze.  
Sherlock gave him a short smile which told John 'No, the door was not really unlocked.'.  
John rolled his eyes, but nodded shortly and together they left the crime scene.


	8. One step, two steps, three steps

**New chapter, everyone :D  
It was fun writing this chapter, don't know why /D  
I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it ^^  
**

**I just realized this story is already over 10,000 words long - I never thought it would be that long!  
And we're still not done X'D**

* * *

Sherlock was on the edge.  
They had been back at Baker Street for hours now and he still hadn't solved the murder.

There was something he had missed, something he hadn't thought of and he had no idea what it could be.  
He just couldn't think properly, his mind was otherwise occupied.

The truth was that his brain always wandered to John.  
He tried to concentrate on the murder, think of nothing except the clues and his traitorous brain would somehow connect them with John – not with the case like it should, but with John.

It was 2 AM and it felt like he would become mad any minute by now.  
He wanted to march around the flat, throw objects against the wall and see them break into pieces, he wanted to take his violin and torture the most horrible sounds from it, but he knew it wouldn't help him (he had tried).

Sherlock sat up and put his face into his hands.  
He couldn't go on like this. His work mustn't suffer under something his brain (and his body!) did to him.  
It was really unbelievable. All these years his body had been just transport, he had been in full control and nothing could change that.  
And now there was John.  
John who was different from everyone before.  
John who could still surprise him.  
John who had changed Sherlock's life without him noticing it.  
John who fit so perfectly to Sherlock that everyone thought they were a couple.  
John who didn't leave no matter what crap Sherlock threw at him.

John.

Sherlock couldn't imagine a life without John anymore.  
Had he really once lived alone without John and thought that would be the best?  
He had never been so wrong in his entire life.

_John was everything._

Sherlock raised his head.  
His mind was racing with thoughts, drawing conclusions at lightning speed and putting pieces together.

_No._ This couldn't be.  
This was not possible.

John had already invaded every part of Sherlock's life and now he was even evading ones that Sherlock hadn't known they existed?

At this moment he heard footsteps on the stairs.  
John was padding down the stairs.

Sherlock frowned. This was very unusual behaviour for John.  
Normally the doctor would sleep at least until early morning and even if he couldn't sleep, John always stayed in his room pretending (Sherlock knew if John slept or not; it was easy to tell, but John needn't know that).

But now John was scuffling into the kitchen.  
Sherlock unremarkably turned his head and watched John, only wearing boxer shorts and a shirt, standing in the kitchen and preparing tea in the middle of the night (how very British).  
However, John seemed to be very sleepy, because he spilled most of the hot water next to his cup and then dropped the tea towel.  
Bracing himself on the counter, he bent down and gave Sherlock a perfect view of his muscular arse in his boxers.

Sherlock felt a strange stir in his pyjama pants.  
_Really?_  
Irritated, he looked down.  
He didn't like this, his body doing whatever it wanted and reacting to John in these annoying ways.  
It was horrible.  
Hopefully, John would go back to bed now that he got his tea and leave Sherlock to his thoughts.

But John was still standing in the kitchen, carefully sipping his hot tea.  
Sherlock turned his head away.  
This shouldn't look so ... _inviting_.

John's lips against the cup looked soft and enticing, just like they had felt in the cab.  
Would they feel the same now? Would the kiss make _him_ feel the same?  
He would love to know if it had been a onetime thing or if it was something about John that made kissing him feel that nice.

Sherlock snorted at himself.  
He sounded really pathetic. And he was in the middle of a case for God's sake!  
He was that close to solving a really exciting case and all he could think about were John Watson's lips!

John still hadn't gone back to bed, but was now sitting down on the armrest of the couch, next to Sherlock, the empty cup of tea already put into the sink.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock ignored him.

"Sherlock, I know you are listening."

When had it come so far that John Watson could read him so well?

"Fine. Then don't answer. But I will talk to you anyway."

John stood up and started pacing up and down, apparently trying to find the right words.  
Sherlock could practically hear him thinking.

Best not to take notice. Maybe he will stop and leave Sherlock alone.

But John didn't.  
He continued walking, sometimes stopping, opening his mouth to speak and then changing his mind, starting pacing again.

This went on for 10 minutes and it irritated Sherlock enormously.

Sherlock knew exactly what John wanted to talk about: The kiss.  
It was obvious from the way he couldn't decide for the right words and always changed his mind at the last moment.  
John wanted to apologize, to make sure everything was alright between them, but Sherlock couldn't care less that John had kissed him.  
In fact, he wanted him to do it again – but John didn't know that, did he?

John paused again and Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.  
He couldn't take John's endless worry which made him unable to think clearly.  
He couldn't take John walking up and down in front of him, presenting himself perfectly for Sherlock in just boxer shorts and shirt, showing off his muscular body that was normally hidden under unflattering jeans and those hideous jumpers and making something stir inside of Sherlock that hadn't since teenage.  
He couldn't take his own thoughts wandering, going round and round in circles and never finding a solution.

He couldn't take this whole situation anymore.

At that moment, something inside of him snapped.  
Suddenly, it wasn't important anymore that he was in the middle of a case.  
It was useless information that it might be better to talk to John.

He stood up and went to John.

One step. _Still time to change your mind.  
_Two steps. _If you turn right now, it will seem as if you just want to walk into the kitchen.  
_Three steps. _John looks puzzled._  
Four steps._ Invading his personal space._  
Five steps. _Body against body. Only thin layers of fabric between them._

John looked up into his face.  
Sherlock could see the confusion in his eyes melting away as his pupils dilated.

They stared into each other's eyes.

_Blue.  
_So unbelievably deep blue.

And then Sherlock bent down and kissed John.

It wasn't like their first kiss. Not at all.

Sherlock's kiss was confident and although John needed a moment to process what was happening, Sherlock didn't pull back for even a second.  
He moved his lips against John's, trying to figure out what it was that made this so special.

Then John reciprocated and Sherlock's mind shut down.  
It wasn't important anymore why he was doing this, the only thing that mattered was that he kept kissing John and never stopped.  
His stomach was fluttering again and his blood sang with happiness.

Their lips fit perfectly against each other as if they had been made only for this and Sherlock couldn't remember ever feeling so complete.

John's hands were cupping his face by now and Sherlock's had settled on the small of John's back.  
He could have gone on forever like this when he felt John's tongue against his lips.  
Sherlock hesitated only for a second and then opened his mouth to meet John's tongue with his own.

It was a strange feeling, this dance of their tongues, but every time their tongues met, it sent little sparks through his body and Sherlock's scientific side wanted to explore further.

He changed the angle of his head slightly and took John by surprise by invading his mouth.

It tasted wonderful in there, Sherlock could not remember any flavour as rich as this.  
Tea, sugar and something just uniquely John.

But before Sherlock could continue his exploration, John had gathered himself again and started fighting to have his turn in exploring Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock, of course, didn't let him have his way that easily and their tongues started their wild dance again.

John let his fingers run through Sherlock's hair and Sherlock found himself leaning into it unconsciously.

Sherlock had never felt so utterly blissful before.

But like everything in life, this kiss had to end, too.  
And this end came in form of the front door slamming closed.

They jerked out of their happy bubble and heard Mrs. Hudson shouting, "And I never want to talk to you again!"

"Seems her date didn't go so well." John said smiling.  
"It was obvious that it wouldn't work out from the minute they started dating. He's living in the middle of Africa and wanted her to come with him." Sherlock answered, grinning broadly.  
"And you didn't think you should tell her?"  
"She said I shouldn't deduce her dates and interfere with them except it was something dangerous. And living in Africa is not really dangerous, is it? Well, they have malaria over there, so –"  
"Sherlock, stop it." John tried to look serious, but his smile was back soon enough while they looked into each other's eyes.  
And suddenly they were laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

_They had just been kissing like there was no tomorrow and now they were talking about Mrs. Hudson's love life._

It took them some minutes to calm down again, then John asked cautiously, "So you're not angry about the kiss in the taxi?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to the sofa. John's questions could be so inane sometimes.  
"No, I'm not. Why should I kiss you now if I didn't like you doing it earlier in the first place?  
Seriously John, this question was superfluous."

But John just smiled.  
"I'm glad."

Sherlock sat down and could feel John's gaze on him again.  
"What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound too annoyed.

"Um ... just wondering ..."  
Sherlock turned his head and saw an obvious blush on John's cheeks.  
He raised an eyebrow and the blush deepened.

"Just wondering if it is alright then, that I ... kiss you." The words stumbled hastily out of John's mouth as if he wouldn't get them out if he took too long.

Sherlock needed a moment to think about that question.  
He hadn't thought about it before.  
All his brain had concentrated on had been the first kiss and how a second one would be. But now?  
Did he want to continue this?  
Well, the answer to that was rather easy.

"Yes, it's alright." Sherlock said, masking the want he felt behind a blank face.  
With a second thought, he added, "But not in public; I don't want these imbeciles from the yard talking about this. And not too often."

John smiled again. "That's fine with me."  
Sherlock wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but he had a feeling John could see through his mask of neutrality.

Then John bent down and gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips. "Goodnight, Sherlock."  
With a last smile back, he left the room and went to bed.

Sherlock stared at the door through which John had just went, his fingers on his own lips where just seconds ago John's lips had been.  
Then he slightly shook his head, laid down and tried to concentrate on the case again.  
There were still a couple of quiet night hours left before the break of the day.


	9. Big brother is watching you

**OMG, I can't believe I really wrote this.**

**I never planned this chapter to be like this, but these boys are just doing what they want.  
Anyway, I wrote two versions of this chapter, a mature one and a slightly more explicit one.**

**The mature one is this here, the more explicit one can be found on AO3 (link in my profile or just search for 'Catch me' by 'Sayura', if you're interested).**

**I hope you'll enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

John was lying on his bed and smiled at the ceiling.  
He felt like a huge weight had been taken off of him.  
He hadn't ruined their friendship with his inconsiderate behaviour.  
And Sherlock had kissed him. _Kissed him.  
_He had told John (indirectly) that he liked it and had allowed John to continue doing it.

Maybe it wasn't so bad after all to be in love with the detective.  
Maybe there was a chance that John could have both, their friendship _and_ this new part of it – and maybe even more?  
John didn't dare to let his thoughts wander down that path, but he couldn't deny that Sherlock's kiss had been ... hot.  
It had sent shivers down his whole body, gathering below his navel.

Even now, just by thinking of the kiss, John felt himself getting aroused.  
It was really ridiculous how much influence Sherlock had on him.

Slowly John's fingers wandered down his body.  
He hadn't been able to have a good wank for quite some time and maybe now that his mind was at ease and with material that good to fuel his fantasy...?

John imagined them kissing again, imagined it were Sherlock's fingers caressing the skin under his shirt, drawing circles; then the fingers went down, down his chest, down his belly, down his thighs. His heart sped up and his body reacted to his fantasy.  
The fingers felt soft and cool against John's overheated skin and he wanted more of them, needed to feel these long, skilled digits against him, making him shiver; but in his fantasy, Sherlock was still teasing him, touching everywhere except where John wanted him to touch most.  
John's body arched up against the touch as Sherlock stroked over his chest again and he had to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning when his hands finally, after what felt like eternity, went down again and reached their goal.  
He hadn't been this aroused for quite some time and it felt so good to work off all the worry of the last days.  
Fantasy-Sherlock was deliberately keeping his touch light and fleeting, making John want to beg for more. And while one hand was occupied with stroking the hard flesh, the other continued exploring, slowly teasing his bottom.  
Suddenly John's need for relief was doubled; he brought the finger that had been teasing his entry up and started sucking on it, making it wet; then it went down again.  
His fingers were working more urgently now and John felt the pleasure floating through his body. He knew it wouldn't take long anymore.  
"Let go, John," fantasy-Sherlock whispered in ear and John's vision went white.

It took him a few moments to come down again, but as soon as his breathing had calmed down, he took one of the tissues on his night stand, cleaned himself up and went to sleep.  
He was very tired by now.

When John woke up the next morning, he didn't know why he felt so happy at first.  
Then the events of the last day came back to his mind. The Kiss.

With a big smile he got up, showered (slightly humming to himself), got dressed and went downstairs.  
There his smile dropped from his face for a moment.  
Sherlock was sitting in his chair, completely dressed (unusual for this time of day), plugging on his violin (not unusual) and displaying a big frown.  
In the chair opposite, which was normally John's, sat Mycroft.

"Good morning, John, how good to see you."  
John forced himself to smile. "Yes, good morning to you, too, Mycroft."  
He didn't return the rest of the pleasantries, because he really wasn't happy to see the man. It never meant something good to see Mycroft Holmes sitting in your chair at eight in the morning.  
"Tea?"  
"No, thank you, John. Please, sit down. I need to talk to you both."

That truly weren't the words John wanted to hear; but he sat down on the armrest of Sherlock's chair anyway (the sofa seemed somehow inappropriate and John hoped Sherlock's proximity might help him deal with this situation).  
A smile appeared on Mycroft's lips on this course of action and he said, "Well, I see congratulations are in order. You have finally stopped dancing around each other."

John was somehow confused about this, but Mycroft seemed to ignore it and turned to Sherlock.  
"Well done, little brother. You have finally found that someone who is able to reach you, put up with you childish behaviour and is willing to stay.  
And such a fine man, it is, indeed; soldier and doctor. I had always thought it would be some kind madman, but in a way he is one, isn't he?" Mycroft was wearing his customary snaky smile again and Sherlock was furious.

"What are you implying, Mycroft?"  
"I thought it was obvious as you and the dear doctor have seemed to move on in your relationship lately."  
"John is my _friend_."  
"So he is, indeed." Mycroft just kept smiling as if he knew more than they did and John thought maybe that actually was the case.

Then Mycroft stood up. "Well, I see you still have some things to discuss here and you're in the middle of a case. Anyway, please accept the invitation, Sherlock; I would so hate to have to force you.  
Good day, Doctor Watson." And he left.

John stared after him.  
What the hell had just happened?  
He turned around to look at Sherlock, who was pouting in his chair.  
"What was that supposed to mean?" John asked.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Seriously John, his intentions were that obvious, even you can't be dumb enough not to know."

When John didn't answer, Sherlock started ranting. "He has congratulated us for 'getting together' as they say and _en passant _reminded us that he knows everything about our lives as soon as we know – or even before. Also, he used to opportunity to tell me how absolutely socially unsuitable I am and what he thinks of me.  
And now he's trying to use that against us; don't you see, John?"  
"I don't know, Sherlock ... "John said sceptically. "Maybe he really just wanted to be ... you know, nice and tell you he approves of these changes?"  
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Mycroft has never less than seven motives at a time."  
"And what about that invitation that he mentioned?"  
"Mummy's birthday party. Usually, they choose to ignore my absence because it's easier than arguing and they know I would find a way to escape," Sherlock smiled at that thought. "But it's a decadal birthday this year and it seems she expects me to come, especially now that Mycroft has told her about you. She instructed him to invite me and make sure that I'll be there. You're invited, too."  
"I – I am invited? Why?!"  
"I suppose because she wants to meet you, John, how would I know? That woman is even worse than Mycroft."  
"Sherlock, you're talking about your _mother_."  
"So what? She raised me and Mycroft, how do you expect her to be?"

John didn't know what to say to that. How did he imagine Mummy Holmes?  
"And when is that party?"  
"The day after tomorrow, at our estate. That journey will take forever! I can't leave London now. I'm in the middle of a case! Fits Mycroft to tell me on such short notice that I couldn't leave beforehand."  
"Wait, your mother owns an _estate_?"  
"Yes, do keep up, John." Sherlock groaned. "We will have to leave in the morning, because mummy won't approve if we arrive shortly before the party. She always wants the family to have dinner together the day before. She will make my life miserable if I don't participate in those dreadful customs, John! She will make _our_ life miserable!"  
"Are you sure you're not overreacting? She's your mother not some kind of witch."  
"She very well could be." He pouted. "She's a genius, John, just like Mycroft and I are, but she doesn't show it. She hides under layers of fake kindness and sociality, while she controls everything that happens around her. She _manipulates_ people."  
"As if you wouldn't do that." John retorted, but Sherlock ignored him.

Then he suddenly turned around to John and gripped both his shoulders.  
"John, you must be _very _careful around my mother. Don't trust her outer appearance, she's not who she seems to be. She will use whatever she can get to her advantage."  
John was confused about Sherlock's seriousness, but he nodded.  
"Alright. If you really think that's necessary, then I will be on my guard."  
"Good, then we'll go shopping now."  
"Shopping?!"  
"Yes. Seriously John, do you think you can go with clothes like _that_? And no, your suits will not be sufficient. If we have to meet mummy, than I want to you to impress her at least.  
We can't have her trying to drive you away, can we?"

And with a wink, he had taken his coat and was out of the door.  
John stood there for a whole minute, dumbfounded, then followed suit.


	10. Suits and their successions

**OMG it's chapter 10 already - and we're still not done.  
Thank you for your support so far and your nice comments which always help me through my little writing problems ;A;**

**Anyway, this is a little interlude, one could say. It's not really important for the story, but I just needed to write this scene.  
It was stuck in my head. (I really don't want to be John in this chapter ... although ... Well, you'll see ;3)  
Don't worry, the case will be back soon - but right now Sherlock has to deal with a more serious problem (his mother) X'D**

**Hope you'll like it :3**

**PS: "petit ami" = "little friend" or "boyfriend" ;D  
**

* * *

Sherlock entered his usual tailor shop with John right behind him.  
He didn't go shopping that often, but when he did, he cared for exclusivity and this certain tailor covered all his needs. He didn't fuss much, he worked quickly and efficiently and he had a good taste.

"Ah, Monsieur Holmes, what a pleasure to see you again. How can I help you today?"  
"Bonjour Monsieur Henry. " Sherlock smiled in his usual manner. "Nothing for me today, but my friend here needs some new clothes." And he pulled John to his side, keeping his hand at the small of John's back to keep him from slipping away.  
"_Oui_, I see what you mean. Suits? Shirts? For a certain occasion?"  
"Everything. It's for a high society event."  
"Ah _c'est __ça_. I'll begin right away."  
"Good, we don't have much time."  
"_Pas de problème_. You're one of my best costumers, after all. Your _petit __ami_ will be the best-dressed gentleman in no time."

He pulled out a measuring tape and started taking John's measurements.  
Sherlock sat down in one of the comfy chairs and watched the proceedings.  
John looked really uncomfortable.  
"Relax, John."  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but _I_ don't buy and wear custom-tailored suits all the time." John answered sarcastically.  
"You won't do that today, either. We hardly have the time. You'll have to bear with having one fitted to you."  
John snorted. "Still, this really isn't my area."  
"Relax, it'll be fine. I'm here with you, remember?" Sherlock looked up into John's eyes.  
John looked at him quizzically, but seemed to calm down a bit.

Soon they were surrounded by dozens of different suits, shirts, waistcoats, ties, bow-ties, shoes, socks and even underwear.  
Sherlock took some time to look around and then pieced together three outfits for John to try:  
A black suit with green waistcoat, a dark grey suit with dark blue waistcoat, a grey suit with red waistcoat and a white shirt to wear with suit and waistcoat.  
He left the rest to contemplate when John was actually wearing the outfits, but added a navy blue shirt for more casual occasions, when John wouldn't need a waistcoat, and a pearl white suit with fitting waistcoat.  
Sherlock wasn't really sure why he wanted to John to try this particular suit, but it was a sudden wish deep inside of him since the moment he saw it.  
And he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes if he didn't go after his wishes.

Monsieur Henry took the outfits to the fitting room and Sherlock pushed John after him, not listening to his protests.  
Sherlock used the time he was waiting to deduce for what kind of people the clothes around were made, but got bored rather quickly.  
When John finally emerged from the cabin, Sherlock's breath stopped for a second.

John looked so _different_.  
Sherlock took a step towards him and scrutinized the outfit from all angles.

The black suit and shirt fitted John perfectly and accentuated his muscular chest (still from Afghanistan, obviously), hugged him just right around the middle and stressed his well-toned legs (from chasing criminals through London evidently).

"Try the other colours, John." Sherlock said without looking into John's eyes.  
He knew that John was nervous and that he wanted to see some kind of reaction from Sherlock, but he deliberately didn't show anything. He didn't want John to know how much Sherlock liked what he saw.

This procedure went on until John saw the last suit.  
"A white suit? Sherlock, why the hell would I need a white suit?!" John asked, his temper changing from nervousness and confusion to anger.  
"First of all, John, it isn't just white, it's pearl white and while we're waiting for Monsieur Henry, you can just as well try it on. I'm sure it'll look good on you."  
"You haven't answered my question, Sherlock. _Why_ should I try it on? We're looking for something to wear to your mother's birthday party, not some high society wedding."  
"Might as well be."  
"What?!"  
"John, my mother wants to meet you, which means, in case we'll keep being friends, which I assume, she will invite you to all kinds of events relating family and duty. We might as well look for something appropriate for all kinds of occasions."  
Of course Sherlock didn't intend to go to these events, but it was a good argument why John should try on the suit.

"Oh, alright." John sighed, obviously not wanting to have a row in the middle of an expensive tailor shop, and Sherlock couldn't hide the little smile on his face.  
A short time later, John stood in front of Sherlock, wearing the pearl white suit.

Sherlock had to admit that this was his favourite one.  
It made John's suntan glow and his eyes shine.  
If Sherlock had been a romantic man, he would have thought John looked like an angel.  
He shook his head at his own silly thoughts.  
John Watson was a good man, but he wasn't an angel. He _had_ killed people – one of them to save Sherlock's life. Maybe he was Sherlock's guardian angel?  
_Sherlock, listen to yourself. So sentimental_.  
He gave himself a mental kick.

"Content now?" John asked, still irritated.  
"Yes," Sherlock smiled and this time looked directly into John's eyes.  
John seemed surprised about what he saw there, but Sherlock didn't bother hiding now.  
They were alone at the moment and it wouldn't do them any good if John was ill-tempered the whole trip to his mother's.

"Ehm ... I'm just going to ...," John cleared his throat. "... change back."  
"Yes, that would be the best." Sherlock answered and John quickly vanished into the fitting room.

Sherlock was impatiently waiting when he heard John calling, sounding slightly flustered.  
"Sherlock? Can you ... can you come in here for a moment?"  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  
"You want me to come into the changing cubicle with you?"  
"Yes, I ... I need your help."

Sherlock really didn't know what to think about that, but with a quick look around to make sure they were still alone, he entered the little room.  
There was John, in his undershirt and the suit trousers, with an apparent blush on his cheeks.

"What's wrong?"  
"I – I ..."  
"Stop stuttering, John, and just tell me."  
"I can't get the zipper open. It's stuck somehow."

Sherlock's eyebrows lifted again to be quickly replaced with an exasperated look.  
"Really, John? You call me for something like that?"  
"I just don't want to rip something and I can't see it properly and also you are the one used to wearing suits this expensive. I'm sure _I_ couldn't even afford trying them on." John retorted, his blush burning angrily.  
"Yes alright, I'll help you. Just stop fussing."

Sherlock went down on his knees in front of John.  
His eyes were level with the zipper now.  
He could hear John's uneven breathing above him and he knew if he didn't have as much self-control as he did, his body would be showing similar reactions. But as it was, he seemed perfectly calm – at least on the outside.

He concentrated on John's zipper.  
First: analyzing the problem.  
Nothing visible from the outside. So the troublemaker was on the inside.  
Sherlock groaned internally.  
He might be a high-functioning sociopath, but even he knew that it wouldn't do them any good if he looked inside of John's trousers now – especially with John's current condition which was already becoming worse.  
Only other option: the violent way.

"John, suck in your stomach."  
When John did as he was told, Sherlock grasped the waistband of the trousers (he could hear John sucking in a breath), pulled them up and then brutally pulled the zipper.  
Nothing happened. The zipper was still stuck.  
He tried again. Still no success.  
So the other way.

"John, it seems there's a piece of fabric stuck from the inside. We'll have to find it, grab it and then simultaneously pull the zipper."  
"Alright."  
John's hand wandered to the hem of his trousers, but Sherlock stopped him.  
His curiosity had won over his social manners – and it was John after all. He knew how Sherlock was and Sherlock wanted to know how John would react.  
"I'll do it. As you said before, you can't see anything from this angle and you'll just hurt yourself or the cloth."  
"Sherlock, I'm not sure that's a good ... " Their eyes met and John's protest died. He nodded.

Slowly, Sherlock's hand wandered to the waistband and, with one confirming look to John, slipped inside.  
It was a strange angle to put his hand into somebody else's trousers and Sherlock had to fumble around to find the stuck fabric.  
From above him came muffled noises. He glanced up and saw John biting his lips to keep silent.

Hiding a little grin, Sherlock went back to work.  
_Let's see how long he can keep his voice to himself.  
_His hand twitched to the side and brushed John. A whimper from above.  
Sherlock acted as if he hadn't noticed and continued his path.

"Sherlock, can you please hurry up a bit?"  
Sherlock distorted his mouth but focused a bit more on the original task – though with an additional punishing brush from time to time, drawing little sounds from John which made Sherlock feel smug and soon he knew that he couldn't keep this up or his body would win over his discipline.  
Finally, when he found he couldn't draw it out any longer, he pulled on the stuck cloth and opened the zipper.

"There, all fixed." Sherlock said and got up.  
"Thanks, Sherlock." John had his head turned away, apparently trying to hide his blush.  
"I'll go and pay." _Best to let him have some privacy now._  
"Yes, I'll just ... finish."

Sherlock left the fitting room with a barely hidden smile.  
Well, that had been interesting.  
John was definitely not as straight as he always pretended to be.  
It was obvious that he (and his body) was interested in more than just kissing Sherlock.  
This needed more data.

Back in the main room, Monsieur Henry had returned and Sherlock put on his usual neutral face again.  
"Is everything alright, Monsieur?"  
"Yes, everything's fine." Sherlock replied, glanced at the door to the next room and then quietly added, "I want to buy the pearl white one, too. But make it separate. Deliver it tomorrow. My landlady will take care of it."  
"Of course, Monsieur Holmes." Mr. Henry added with a wink.  
Sherlock ignored him and quickly paid the bill without batting an eye. He had enough money.  
"_Merci_, Monsieur Holmes. I will send the delivery right away."

John emerged from the fitting room, looking his usual self again, although a bit rumpled and his blush was still prominent.  
"Come on, John, we don't have time to waste." Sherlock went to the door.  
"But – the suits?" John asked quizzically, but followed him anyway.  
"They'll be delivered in half an hour."  
"Of course they are." John sighed as they climbed into a cab. "Where are we going?"  
"Back to Baker Street. We still need to pack."


	11. Meeting Mummy Holmes

**This chapter is cursed.**  
**I had to completely rewrite it in just a few hours to be able to post it now.**

**So please don't be too hard on me Q_Q**

**I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.**

* * *

They had finally finished packing and were on their way to the Holmes' estate (_Estate_! John still couldn't believe it).

It had taken them quite a long time, because, of course, Sherlock hadn't packed himself, but let John do the work and had just pointed out what he was doing wrong.  
"You can't fold a suit like that, John."  
"Don't forget my razor, John."  
Finally, John had had enough and had banned Sherlock out of his own bedroom (what Sherlock had pointed out rather loudly; loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to come upstairs and ask after the cause of their 'little domestic' actually).

Now they were finally sitting in one of Mycroft's cars (who was obviously taking no chances) on their way out of London.  
Sherlock was bored already, John could see that, but he hadn't complained about it yet.  
John expected it any time by now.

But unbelievably, their car ride went rather smoothly and quietly. Maybe Sherlock had been too busy pouting that he had to meet his mother to complain?

The car stopped and the driver opened the door.  
The Holmes' estate was _huge_. John had never seen a house this big – except in movies - and it was really beautiful here. The house was completely surrounded by an enormous garden and everything was green or blooming.

John slowly climbed out of the car to see Sherlock already scoffing at the house in distaste.  
"I had hoped that I never would have to come back here."  
"Why? It looks nice."  
"Live here for 14 years and we'll talk again." He sighed. "Follow me; we'll need to get the greetings done before we can retire for a while."

John followed Sherlock through the huge door of the manor house and the entrance hall into a smaller room to their left.  
The room was bright, due to the big windows and the glass door through which you could access the garden. There wasn't much furniture in the room, except a table, a settee and two armchairs. Obviously it was some kind of parlour.

In the armchairs sat Mycroft Holmes and an elderly woman who had to be Sherlock's mother.  
Mummy Holmes looked nothing like John had imagined, but seeing her now he should have guessed it.  
She was a very elegant woman and John could see who Sherlock got his cheekbones from. Her hair was pinned-up to a bun and her eyes glinted with intelligence.

"Sherlock, my dear!" She got up and came to greet them, smiling. "I haven't seen you for such a long time. If your brother wouldn't tell me about your life, I wouldn't even know you're still alive."  
Before Sherlock could even open his mouth, she had turned to John. "And you must be Dr. Watson, so nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you from Mycroft." Her smile had something predatory; just like Mycroft's usually did. One could definitely see the family resemblance.

John glanced at Mycroft over her shoulder and saw him smiling in exactly the same way right now.  
He could envisage the next days already.

"Do you want a tour of the house, dear? I so want to get to know you. - Oh, and I won't take 'no' for an answer." She smiled at him.  
"Sure, Mrs. Holmes," John answered, trying to smile back.

"Don't call me 'Mrs. Holmes', John. - I may call you 'John', don't I? - Nobody calls me 'Mrs. Holmes' except for strangers or staff. " She said while she led him out of the room, ignoring Sherlock's protests (apparently she was used to that). "Call me 'Mummy' like everyone else. You're a part of the family now after all."  
"What?" He looked at her, surprised. "You must have misunderstood something, ... Mummy. I'm Sherlock's best friend and flatmate, nothing more."  
"Sure you are," she said with a smile that said 'I know it better'. "Sherlock has never brought anyone with him before. You're the very first one; and that does have to mean something, doesn't it?"

Without waiting for an answer she continued.  
"Tell me, how is it living with him? It must be exhausting, I imagine. He has always been difficult, even as a child. Maybe that's why he never had friends.  
But as I heard, you're doing fine. You've been living with him for quite some time now and, as Mycroft tells me, you two are still inseparable. It's nice to know that Sherlock finally has found somebody who cares about him."  
She was still smiling, but now it said 'Don't you dare to hurt him'.

"Yes, Sherlock is very important to me."  
She stops and John realizes he hasn't even noticed where they went. Obviously this was more about 'the talk' than the tour.  
Mummy Holmes looked directly into his eyes. "I can see it in your eyes that you deeply care about him. - And he does, too."  
John stayed silent.  
"He may not say it out loud, but I can see it in the way he looks at you. I'm his mother after all.  
Sherlock always needs much time to open up and trust people and if they misuse his trust just once, he won't do it ever again. So take care that won't happen. I would hate to see you two split up."  
John didn't know what to say. Was this the Holmes' way of saying that they approve of a relationship?  
"Just be there for him and I'm sure you'll be very happy together."  
She seemed almost blissful. "I've never seen him like this. I had almost given up hope."

Then she smirked at him, almost chummily. "I think that was enough of the concerned-parent-talk. I'll bring you back to Sherlock, before he thinks I murdered you." She laughed lightly.  
John looked at her, confused, and she seemed to notice that.  
"Ah, dear, you remind me of myself. I'm not a born Holmes either.  
But you'll get used to it sooner or later. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me."  
She winked at him and opened the door in front of them.

They were back in the parlour.  
As soon as John entered, Sherlock rushed to his side, looking at from all angles, obviously deducing.  
"I'm alright, Sherlock." John said, slightly rolling his eyes.

"Mummy, Mycroft, John and I will retire to my room now. We'll see you at dinner." And he pulled John out of the room by his hand.


	12. More than just friends

**You all wanted it, here it is!**  
**The next chapter :D**

**Thank you for over 100 follows! I feel so honoured and your support means so much to me ;A;**

* * *

Sherlock pulled John into his room – or rather _rooms_ – and closed the door securely behind him.  
He had always had a whole wing of the estate (about the size of Baker Street) to himself and Mummy hadn't bothered changing anything (except that somebody 'cleaned up' and Sherlock was sure he wouldn't be able to find anything now).

"What did she want from you?" He asked John without much of a preamble and started examining him for signs of distress.  
John, however, was busy admiring his surroundings. "Is this your room?"  
"What? Yes, you can look at it later; now tell me what she wanted from you."

John turned his head to look at Sherlock.  
"She just wanted to get to know me."  
"John, don't play dumb, I know that she wanted to talk to you privately, so tell me why."  
"Well, she ... she wanted to know what it's like to live with you and ..." He blushed.  
"Go on."  
"She sort of welcomed me to the family."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course she did. Anything else?"  
John reluctantly opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He closed and opened it again.  
Sherlock thought he looked like some kind of fish. An adorable, but exhausting fish.  
Wait; _adorable_?!  
Since when did he think that John was adorable?!  
Such a stupid sentimental thought. He really needed to delete that.

It seemed John wasn't capable of speaking another word, so Sherlock decided it was time to deduce what had happened.  
He wandered around him, looking at him from all angles, but couldn't find anything new.  
What had Mummy said that John couldn't tell him about?

Sherlock stood in front of John again, stepping a bit closer and trying to make eye contact - which John refused.  
Sherlock sighed and put one finger under his chin, tilting his head upwards so that he could look into John's eyes.

"John, you need to tell me everything you two talked about. It might be vital. I need to know what we are dealing with, what she expects."  
John took a deep breath and cautiously started speaking. "Well, she ..." He cleared his throat and tried to avert his gaze again. "She told me that she can see that you deeply care about me and that she doesn't want us to 'split up'."  
"Split up?"  
John looked up again. "Yes, it seems she misunderstood something and thinks we're a couple – or at least almost."  
"Ah." Sherlock nodded slowly. "Yes, that fits. It's good you told me that, John. Now we can make a plan."  
"A plan?"  
"Yes, to deceive my mother. I do love getting one up on her." He grinned and John chuckled.  
"What do you have in mind?"  
"Well, actually I have two ideas and I think we could combine them.  
First, we'll give my mother exactly what she wants: The enamoured couple.  
Then, when she's absolutely happy with the situation we fake a big row, preferable at the party tomorrow, which she dreads and if we're lucky, we're able to leave earlier."

Sherlock's eyes glinted at the perfect plan.  
John however wasn't as sure about it.  
"Do you even know what you are suggesting, Sherlock? Acting as a couple?"  
"Of course I know. And we wouldn't have to change much; people already think we're a couple. Maybe we should kiss, but we've done that already and you like kissing me. So where's the problem?"  
"The problem is, Sherlock, that we're _not_ a couple."  
"Yes, and that's the deceive. It's brilliant, John!"  
John still didn't look convinced.  
"Come on, John, what could possibly happen?"

When John didn't answer, Sherlock decided he needed some more persuasion – and he had already the perfect idea how to do that.

He drew nearer to John again, into his personal space, so John had to look up to him.  
He put his hands on John's hips, pulling him even closer, and in that moment, he bent down and kissed him.  
_Passionately_.

John, who obviously hadn't anticipated this, took a few seconds before he reciprocated the kiss.  
Then he put his arms around Sherlock's neck to pull him down some more and the kiss deepened.

Sherlock could feel John's tongue begging for entrance against his lips and he willingly opened and met John's tongue with his own.  
It was heaven.

There they stood, in the middle of his childhood room, still completely dressed in coat (or jacket, in John's case), scarf and shoes and kissed like their life depended on it.

Sherlock's brain wasn't working properly anymore by now and he felt himself getting hotter with every second.  
His hands wandered from John's hips up to shed his jacket and then slowly under his jumper.  
He had expected to feel skin there, but John was wearing an undershirt and Sherlock groaned unhappily into the kiss. He could feel John smiling into the kiss in return.

While he was tugging at John's shirt to finally have access to John's skin, he still didn't miss John's hands doing some exploring on their own.  
The scarf flew across the room and John leapt at the skin of Sherlock's neck, carefully nibbling there, while his hands got rid of the coat and then cupped his arse, squeezing lightly.

Sherlock moaned into the kiss, arousal thrumming through his body.  
His fingers were caressing John's back now and he could feel the well-built muscles there.

Feeling wasn't enough anymore. He wanted to _see_.

But before he could act on the impulse, there was a knock at the door.  
"Master Sherlock, would you come down for dinner?"

Sherlock had to violently rip himself away from John to be able to answer.  
"Yes, we'll be down in a few minutes. Tell my mother we're still unpacking." He answered through the still closed door, forcing his voice to sound steady; not an easy task when John was still nibbling at his neck.

Retreating steps could be heard and John gave Sherlock's skin a last kiss before pulling back.  
"Seems we should better change and go down." He sounded out of breath and not really happy about the disruption.  
"Yes, we should."

John pulled away completely and turned around to his suitcase that was standing next to a big cupboard. Sherlock could see the disappointment that John was trying to hide.  
He quickly stepped behind John, wrapping his arms around his middle – just because it felt right – and whispered in his ear. "We should do this more often. Maybe we'll find time later to continue where we stopped?"

John shivered in response and turned his head, smiling. "Yes, I would like that."

Sherlock smiled back and turned around to his own suitcase. When he had found his clothes and just wanted to leave the room to change, John spoke up again.  
"Sherlock? About that plan. _I'm in_."

Grinning, Sherlock left the room. Maybe the dinner wouldn't be as bad as he had anticipated.


	13. Dinner

**New chapter :D**

**This basically wrote itself ... I loved imagining Sherlock's family reacting to an open display of affection.  
Tell me what you think about it ;D**

**I hope you'll like the chapter.**

* * *

„Dinner" was more like a banquet.  
There was a long table in the middle of the room with Mrs. Holmes – Mummy – at the head of it. The other seats were taken by members of the Holmes family, John assumed.  
They all shared some characteristics and you could see they were somehow related.

"Ah, Sherlock, John, finally. I was about to send Mycroft to fetch you."  
Sherlock glared and John smiled nervously, thinking about what had caused their delay.

There were two chairs vacant next to Mummy's right side. Sherlock quickly took the one farther away and so John had to sit down next to Mummy – and across from Mycroft.

To his surprise, Sherlock openly took his hand on the table as soon as he had sat down, presenting it for everyone to see. It took him a few moments to remember their scheme.  
Sherlock's hand was warm against his and he felt his heartbeat speeding up.  
Oh please, please don't let Sherlock notice …

He quickly turned his gaze away from him in case his pupils had dilated; and met Mycroft's sceptical one. He had raised an eyebrow and folded his hands in front of him as if he was saying 'Well, this is interesting.'

John wasn't sure what Mycroft could read in his face and, not wanting to give away the deception, turned his head further to Mummy. She was beaming at them.

Then a girl down the table suddenly broke the silence that had followed on Sherlock's open display, "So Sherly's got himself a boyfriend. I'd never guessed that to happen."  
The whole table stared at her.  
"What?" She said. "Don't tell me you would have. We all know him."  
She turned to John.  
"You're that John Watson guy, aren't you? The one with the blog. We all read it, it's hilarious.  
But I really don't get how you can stand being around him all the time. Not even we can, and we are his family."  
John gaped at her, unable to answer. There was this girl he didn't even know the name of asking him about his personal life. Before he could collect himself and say anything, she went on.  
"I guess love really is blind," she smirked.

"Amice!" Mummy reprimanded her. So that's how she was called. "I'm sorry, John, Amice is still quite young and at that age Holmes children don't seem to be able to hold back. Though you must be used to that, Sherlock never got over that stage."  
"Mummy!" John could feel the whole table repressing laughter.

One of the Holmes men spoke up. "So, John – It's alright to call you John, isn't it? You're part of the family now, after all. – How did you and Sherlock met? He isn't that sociable."  
"Well," John began. At least this was something that he didn't have to make up. "It happened through a mutual friend. I had just come back to London from the army –"  
"Oh, you were in the army?"  
"Yes, as a doctor. But I got shot and was sent home. I was about to leave because I couldn't afford staying in London anymore when I met that mutual friend I mentioned. It was coincidence, really. He suggested finding a flat share and then he introduced me to Sherlock."  
"And he didn't ... deduce you, like he always does?"  
John chuckled. "Oh yes, he did. But I found it rather amazing, to be honest. Especially after he had explained how he did it."  
"And that was enough to convince you to share a flat with him?"  
"Oh no, I decided that after we chased a cab through half of – Wait a minute, didn't Amice just say you all read my blog? Shouldn't you know all that already?"

Sherlock squeezed his hand. Seemed he had done something right.  
"You caught me. I was trying to get you to spill something about how Sherlock is when he's dating." The man grinned. "I see what you like about him, Sherlock. He isn't as ordinary as he looks."  
Sherlock glared at him and the man made a soothing gesture. "Calm down, Sherlock. I won't get near him. He's completely yours."

John's heart fluttered. '_Yours'_. _Sherlock's_. Somehow this possessiveness felt good.  
He had never been into possessive relationships, but with Sherlock he somehow liked it.  
Damn John, remember _this isn't real_. This is an act for Sherlock's mother. (And apparently the rest of the family.)

Dinner came and Sherlock had to let go of John's hand which felt now strangely cold.  
It was strange seeing Sherlock eating without complaint.

The food was delicious and it was a nice break from the interrogation before.  
Between the courses though, the questioning went on.  
"Do you have a practice, John?" "How is it to always be running after Sherlock?" "Tell me, John, is Sherlock still as chaotic as he was when he was younger? It must be hellish to share a flat with him."

Or the more intimate ones, which made John blush and stutter for an answer (which thankfully just made them think he was just shy to be open about their relationship):  
"When did you fall in love?" (No particular time, came slowly.)  
"Where did you go on your first date?" (To a nice Italian restaurant, it's called Angelo's and it's our favourite one.)  
"Who made the first step?" (I did. It was an accident, really, but it all ended well.)  
John had especially trouble answering the last question, but the thought of their first kiss (the one in the cab) crossed his mind and that saved him.

Sherlock stayed silent the whole time, taking John's hand in own when he wasn't eating.  
It seemed he was talking with his body.  
He kept looking at John, watching him and John could see the looks the other Holmeses gave them, a mixture of astonishment and happiness.

Sometimes John would turn around to look back into Sherlock's eyes and under the (fake) loving gaze John could see the mirth. Sherlock's eyes were practically gleaming.

All in all the evening went much better than John had expected. The nervousness vanished and he felt good in his role as Sherlock's boyfriend.  
The family (he still couldn't remember all the names) seemed to accept them and even cheer for them. It almost made him feel bad for misleading them.

When the dessert came, it became difficult for John.  
From the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock eating in an almost pornographic manner.  
The man might not want to eat, but when he did he loved sweets the most.

And now Sherlock was licking his spoon to get every crumb of the dessert and John felt his cheeks heating up.  
Why did he have to remember now where Sherlock's tongue had been before? What it had done?

John, stop thinking about it.  
Harry being drunk. Harry being drunk and vomiting.  
Mycroft. Mycroft in underwear.  
Corpses.  
_Damn, it doesn't help!_

He looked away, trying to get Sherlock out of his field of view, and met the gazes of the whole table.  
They were smirking and John knew they were amused by the scene playing out in front of them.  
The man from earlier (his name was Cuthbert) winked at him.

Then John could hear a moan from behind him. _Oh my God._

Mummy grinned at his facial expression which must be something between arousal, embarrassment and panic.

Okay, time for a strategic withdrawal.

John turned around to Sherlock who had just put away his spoon (after that obscene moan).  
He leaned closer to whisper in his ear, so loud that everybody could hear it, "That was really unfair, darling. I think you have to take responsibility for your actions."  
Sherlock answered with a lustful look and got up, seemingly eager to follow his lover's demands.

"I'm sorry, but John and I still have some ... things to do. We'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight." He took John's hand, pulling him up and after him.

A cough.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John had to hide a smirk.  
Then Sherlock let go of John's hand and went back to the table to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek. Before he could retreat though, she held him back and whispered (loud enough that John who was standing at the door could hear it), "Enjoy yourself, dear."

Repressed chuckles. Sherlock blushed slightly (He's really a great actor, John thought) and went as fast as possible back to John, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room.  
When the door behind them had closed, they could hear the laughter from inside.


	14. Getting it on

**Okay guys, here it is.  
The thing you've all been waiting for.**

**It's the first of many :D**

**It's also the first time I wrote something like this, so please don't be too hard D:**

**Again, there's the mature version here and and the explicit version on AO3.**

**Hope you'll enjoy it!**

* * *

Sherlock pulled John inside and closed the door.  
They looked at each other and started laughing.

This had been absolutely ridiculous – and the family had believed it.  
Sherlock felt giddy. He had fooled his whole genius family with the help of someone as normal as John (though John obviously wasn't that normal; just normal in comparison to the Holmeses).

It took them a few moments to calm down again, then John said, "Let's go to sleep."  
Sherlock smiled and started heading to his bedroom when he noticed that John wasn't following.  
"John?"  
"It's just ... do you know where your mother has planned for me to sleep?"

Still smiling, Sherlock went back, took John's hand (why did this feel so nice?) and pulled him with him.  
He opened the door to his bedroom and they entered his bedroom.

John stopped dead in his tracks, in awe. "This is your bedroom?"  
"Yes, it is," Sherlock said lightly. Yes, his bedroom was quite big and luxurious (though that certainly wasn't his taste) but it wasn't _that_ impressive.

"Only one bed," John said suddenly.  
"Oh yes, Mummy planned it like that. She wanted to 'open our eyes'." Sherlock rolled his at that. "But since she now thinks we are a couple, she's happy with the arrangement anyway.  
It would have been much worse if we she didn't. Most likely she would have locked us in here."  
"Your mother would have – She really is manipulative."  
"I told you."  
"Yes, but I couldn't quite imagine until I met her. So ... we are both sleeping in this bed?"  
"Yes, it would look suspicious if one of us slept on the couch. Also the bed is big enough, it won't be any trouble."  
John still didn't look pleased with the idea, but Sherlock ignored it and started to undress.

He stopped in his movements when he noticed John's gaze.  
"Everything alright?" John's face was flushed, he thought, but he wasn't sure because the room was too dim.  
"Wh-? Eh, sure."  
Sherlock hid a smile at John's stutter. "You should change. Suits aren't that comfortable to sleep in, no matter how good you look in them, trust me."  
John grinned and began undressing, too.

When just his boxer shorts were left, Sherlock lay down on the bed, waiting for John to finish.  
John turned around a few seconds later and stopped to stare at Sherlock – just for a moment, but still long enough for Sherlock to notice – then he also climbed in bed.

They were lying next to each other in comfortable silence, both only half-dressed and obviously not in the least tired.  
There was tension in the air. Sherlock could feel it.

John spoke up. "Didn't we say something about ... later?"  
"Yes, we did, John."  
John raised an eyebrow and their eyes met.  
"You know that we would do exactly what my family thinks we are doing?"  
"Yes, I know."  
"Problem?"  
"Not at all."  
"Good." Sherlock smiled.  
"_Very_ good." John grinned back.

Suddenly they were at it, kissing like their life depended on it, their tongues fighting with each other in passion. They were pressed against each other and soon they were panting by lack of air but they both didn't care.  
The restraint, the waiting, the tension, all exploded in a cloud of lust.

They were grinding against each other, loud noises coming out of both of their mouths.  
Sherlock was kissing down John's neck while John squeezed Sherlock's arse through the boxers.  
He licked and sucked, not caring if he left a mark (actually, he would love to leave one, show those stupid women who John belonged to) and slowly went down to John's chest.

He teased the nipples with his fingers and John made small noises deep in his throat. Grinning, he let his hands wander down the beautiful suntanned body in the front of him, while his tongue explored the scar on the shoulder. It had such an extraordinary structure ...

John's skin under his hands was burning hot and Sherlock had never felt anything as fascinating.  
He reached the waistband of the annoying last article of clothing and without a second thought pulled it off.

Now John lay bare underneath him. For the first time. His own arousal doubled.

John blushed and Sherlock gently caressed his cheek. John closed his eyes and relaxed again. When he reopened them, Sherlock could see mischief in them and before he could ponder what John had in mind, he had turned them and now John was in charge.

It was like nothing Sherlock had ever felt before.

In contrary to general believe Sherlock wasn't inexperienced – he just used the image of being so in order not to have to deal with it.  
But now, _now_, he would gladly give that up just to experience this again.

John's fingers set his body on fire and every touch was like a lightening of arousal and relief at the same time.  
And his tongue ... John's tongue made Sherlock's brain turn itself off.  
His whole being could only see, hear, smell, taste and feel _John_.  
He didn't even realize that John had taken his boxers off until John touched him.  
Fireworks exploded – and yet he didn't finish.

"Sherlock, you're beautiful."  
Sherlock was sure he blushed at those words and he was glad it was probably too dark for John to see it.

John's lips were on his; Sherlock hadn't even noticed John moving up again.  
They were kissing slower, less frenzied now, more indulgent, but still passionate. It was like a dance.

Savouring their hips were grinding against each other and Sherlock moaned into the kiss.  
It felt so unbelievably good.

One of John's hands went down again and grabbed them both, rubbing them against each other.

"Yes!" It took Sherlock a moment to realize that the word had come out of his mouth.

Their movement grew faster. It felt natural to rut against John's hand and him. His hips were working on their own.  
John was panting on top of him. Apparently he was getting closer – and Sherlock was, too.

After such a long time of waiting it couldn't last long and when Sherlock's hand wandered down to wrap around John's fist, both of them pumping together furiously, their hips working in unison, it took only a few seconds to have them both going over the edge.

Sherlock's vision went blank, stars danced behind his lids and his hips continued moving while he rode the waves of ecstasy.  
He wasn't even sure if he had cried out – or what.

John collapsed on top of him and they stayed like that for a few moments, panting hard.

Then John lay down next to him, staring at the ceiling.  
"Well, that was ... " He said.  
"Yeah."  
They turned their heads at the same time and stared into each other's eyes.

Sherlock could read everything in those deep blue seas.  
They needed no words.

Not really wanting to break eye contact, he reached behind him, feeling for the tissues that he kept there (thankfully his mother hadn't moved them).  
He passed one to John and used another one to clean himself up.

Then, at once, they both got up, threw the tissues into the bin, put on their boxers and went to the bathroom where they brushed teeth.

There was an easy silence between them, a consent that this would stay between them and they wouldn't let it change their friendship, even if it should happen again.  
And if they were lying a bit closer in bed than they would usually have, if John put his head on Sherlock's chest, wrapping an arm around him and if Sherlock put a little kiss on top of John's head, then that was all part of their silent agreement.

They were best friends after all, weren't they?


End file.
